Prologue

Friday, May 27, 2141

HMNB Portsmouth

Portsmouth, England, United Kingdom

Cars were bumper to bumper outside of the guard post that led into Her Majesty's Naval Base Portsmouth. Within a nondescript beige coloured Jaguar, Leading Rate Peter Tyler gazed up at the rear-view mirror at two figures that were sitting in the back seat. The one sitting to the left was a woman, long blonde-grey done up in a bun. She wore a white topped peaked cap on her head with a patch consisting of a red crown above the planet Kepler-22B with an anchor and rocket imposed over the planet's profile with gold trim along the patch's perimeter. On the visor was the gold double 'scrambled eggs' of an admiral, a gold and red-trim epaulet on her right shoulder, cord of gold and red running under it, pinned to her lapel. Her sleeve featured two gold bands, the top with an executive curl though with red running between each band before stopping at a gold patch. Tyler figured her to be in her late forties or early fifties.

Beside her was a tall gold and white furred vulpinoid. He had the same peaked cap on the top of his head, adapted to account for his pointed ears. There was also a gold epaulet on the right shoulder of his black reefer jacket with the same cord running under it as his wife's though solid gold. His sleeve had three gold bands with an executive curl.

The fox panned his head to the left and right, his fingers fidgeting as the cars slowly moved forward. He leaned forward and uttered a very quiet growl. Tyler looked back at him with both hands on the wheel. He had been the fox's driver for official Royal Navy business since he became superintendent of Britannia Royal Naval College. Tyler shrugged his shoulders and gave the fox an apologetic look.

"It's a right jam, Lord Miles." Tyler said.

"Right then, Mr. Tyler. All stop. We'll hoof it." The fox commanded. Tyler applied the brakes and put the Jaguar in park. The fox reached over and opened his door, unlimbering from the car and shutting the door behind him. Then he crossed over around the back as another car sidled up and came to abrupt stop. One of the officers in the back had brought his window down and stuck his head out to shout but upon glimpsing the fox, he wisely decided to slip back in. Being seen in public where cameras very well could lurk, shouting at Admiral Lord Miles Prower, Earl of Devon, Knight Commander of the Order of the Bath and Victoria Cross holder was tantamount to career suicide on one hand and public ridicule in the other.

Lord Miles made it to the left rear passenger door and opened it, offering his hand to the woman who took it and used it as leverage to get out from the Jaguar. She looked up at him with a smile and a shake of her head, squeezing his hand. The fox's wife, Surgeon Vice Admiral Lady Maria Prower (nee Robotnik since 2116) had been made Countess of Devon when Miles was awarded with the peerage. The two began to walk forward on the right side of the procession, approaching the guard shack where Royal Marines were gathered, trying to filter as many cars forward as they could.

As they got closer, Miles reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and removed his identification badge, clipping it on the right side of his chest. Maria opened her handbag and did the same. Upon sighting the pair, the Royal Marines saluted as the two stepped up, which the fox returned.

"Admirals," The marine tasked to him tipped his hat and looked at his identification badge with scrutiny. The other took Maria's badge, looking up at her face before returning it back to her.

"All's in order Admiral Prower, Vice Admiral Prower." The first marine said, stepping back to attend back to the cars.

"Thank you." Miles said, taking Maria's hand again before they stepped forward.

"The International Fleet Review," Maria said. "It's a bit early, isn't it, love?" Her voice was a combination of her native Swede accent but also that of the Devon gentry while being amongst the other ladies of British high society.

"Bismarck 200." Miles explained. Maria blinked and looked up at the fox with confusion. "It's general practice to hold an International Fleet Review on the centenary of certain pivotal battles here. You might be more familiar with Trafalgar 300 which was when you were sixteen. Lord Nelson defeated the Franco-Spanish fleet during the Napoleonic Wars in 1805. Today, two hundred years ago the Home Fleet sank the KMS Bismarck days after it sank HMS Hood. World War II as you humans called it."

"Close to when I almost lost you, twenty-six years ago, love." Maria said, squeezing tightly on his hand. She could feel his fingers squeeze back carefully in turn, the motors clicking and whirring audibly.

"If you look at the matter scientifically, it wasn't an almost but an absolute." Miles countered. "We just got very lucky, that's all." He swallowed and led her towards one of the administration buildings when a woman in the body armor and uniform of the Royalty and Specialist Protection Group spotted the pair.

"Excuse me, sir. You are Admiral and Vice Admiral Prower, are you not?" The woman asked.

"Indeed, we are, Constable." Miles said.

"Her Majesty Queen Katherine requests that you join her and her entourage aboard their ship." The woman replied.

"Oh? Which is that?" Miles asked. The constable gestured for him to follow with her head.

"Sorry sir, I was asked not to answer any questions about the nature of the ship." The constable advised.

"Who am I to question Her Majesty's choice in ship? Very well, consider me intrigued." Miles said, raising his eyes up skyward. His ears shot up as he felt Maria squeezing on his arm.

"You can be grumpy after we're away from the royals." Maria said quietly.

"It's probably some yacht and we're going to be mobbed by the press." Miles grumbled.

"You didn't mind when King George knighted you." Maria retorted gently.

"You don't suppose we'll get a dinner invitation, do you?" The fox put his eyes back forward, pressing his free hand to his abdomen. "Well, I could look forward to that at least."

The SO14 constable led them to the dockyard, where Prower lazily ran his eyes along to the empty places. Then he took notice of the solitary ship that sat at anchor, its profile familiar, and one that he had seen both in books but also in paintings and models aboard his second and arguably favorite ship command. He blinked and saw the Royal Standard of the United Kingdom on the yardarm. The constable stopped at the end of the gangway.

"This is, no it can't be!" Miles exclaimed, gesturing towards the ship with his free hand. "She sank in Prussia Cove! There is absolutely no way-" His ears twitched as he heard the sideboys piping him aboard to the quarterdeck, where he automatically saluted. Then he caught sight of the Prince of Wales holding a white flag which had two crests upon it, one with a woodpecker and the other with cannon. Both had the name Warspite above them.

"Lord Miles," Queen Katherine said, smiling as she walked around in front of her son. The fox came to a stop and bowed low while Maria took a moment to drop down to a curtsy.

"Your Majesty, I can't believe my eyes. This is HMS Warspite. The original Warspite." Miles sputtered.

"The namesake of the space battleship that you served on, yes." Queen Katherine said, nodding. "Not the original though but a carefully constructed reproduction, funded in part by your generous donations to the Warspite Foundation over the years, Lord Miles. This will be the flagship for the International Fleet Review, but more importantly it will be your flagship."

"My flagship?" Miles stared blankly, mouth gaping.

"Provided of course that you have no objection to allowing it to serve as a museum open to the public when not undertaking official business." Queen Katherine requested.

"I have no objections at all that I could voice, your Majesty." Miles slowly lowered himself down to the deck, reaching out to touch the wood.

"It is the least that we could do for the hero of the Battle of the ARK and a loyal servant of our nation. I also see it fit to promote you to Admiral-of-the-Fleet, Lord Miles." Katherine said.

Admiral-of-the-Fleet, the highest rank one could hold in the Royal Navy. It would likely convert over to Keplerian Republic Space Navy. He swallowed and continued to run his hand against the deck. Maria knelt and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing the back of his head. He focused his eyes on his hand now, the whirring and clicking much like the feeling of the deck taking him back to the beginning.